Debts
by writergurl616
Summary: Megatron has a most unusual encounter one night aboard the Nemesis, and it seems the past actions of he and his fellow Cybertronians are finally catching up with them . . . Oneshot, now a series. Chapter 2: Knock Out
1. Chapter 1

**One thing that the Percy Jackson series really got me interested in was Greek mythology, and at some point in time I wondered how the gods would react to the Autobots and Decepticons, or vice versa. This oneshot, which may or may not become a series of oneshots, is an encounter with one Greek deity that fascinates me in particular. So here goes and fingers crossed I didn't write Megatron OOC. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers: Prime. If I did Airachnid would have died a horrible death by now.**

Debts

All was quiet on the _Nemesis_. The fearsome assembly of mechs and drones who usually filled the ship's halls with the sounds of work and meaningless chatter were either staring listlessly at a monitor screen or in recharge. It was peaceful, and the only sound that could be heard was the hum of the ship's engines.

It was Megatron's favorite time of the cycle. Metallic footsteps echoing in the empty space, the gray-plated warlord walked sedately into the now-deserted navigation room.

"Soon," he whispered, as he stared at the coordinates of the Iacon relic the _Nemesis_ was currently in pursuit of, "Soon I will have the artifacts, and I will destroy the Autobots. I have the superior numbers, and I have the superior weaponry. Victory is the only option."

"The Persians believed the same thing." A feminine voice stated behind him. For once taken by surprise, Megatron spun around to see an unknown femme leaning against a nearby computer console. Her plating was a mixture of black and white, and her frame lacked ornamentation of any kind. Around her helm flew a trio of batlike symbiotes, presumably waiting for instructions from their mistress. And at her hip rested a weapon handle with many strands of ultra-fine energon wire hanging from it. She surveyed Megatron with her calm, gray optics, and then continued to elaborate on her previous statement.

"The Persian warriors invading the Greek metropolis of Athens were so confident the city would fall that they brought a block of their native marble to the battle, to carve a monument to the victory they thought was so assured." Here her faceplates curled into a cold sneer. "These arrogant thoughts were quickly put to rest as the Greeks drove them away and out of their lands."

"And what does human history," Megatron snarled, already growing impatient, "have to do with anything?" The femme smirked, and her symbiotes screeched in a way that disturbingly resembled laughter.

"Because you, my dear Decepticon, and your followers are the Persians of this story."

"Oh really?" The gray mech asked with a raised optic ridge, "And what makes you say that?" This appeared to invoke further amusement in his monochromatic guest. She spread her servos and widened her optics in an expression of mock bewilderment.

"As you said Megatron, you have the superior numbers, the greater weaponry. However, even the most devastating weapon is ineffective in the hands of an unskilled warrior. And sadly," she continued, not sounding very sad at all, "that is what makes up the bulk of your forces. Clumsy, inexperienced fighter drones and unrefined, stupid, Insecticon constructs. And even now you fail to utilize your most promising resource." The femme stroke the ship's hull with her servo, as a human would a skittish animal. "When your vessel was christened the homage was almost certainly unintentional. But," her three symbiotes had stopped circling and landed on the femme's shoulders, and she scratched one of their helms absentmindedly, "I am flattered nonetheless."

But Megatron wasn't listening to her words, nor pondering about what it was they implied. He was too focused on tearing apart the insolent femme for daring to insult his forces, to question his decisions. While Megatron was certainly no advocate of his soldiers' abilities, having them degraded by an outside source was enraging and humiliating. And Megatron was humiliated by no one. With a furious roar, the Decepticon warlord deployed his arm-mounted sword, intending to run the audacious little Autobot (because that was surely what the black and white femme had to be) clean through.

What happened next was unlike anything the ex-gladiator had seen in the entirety of his long and eventful lifecycle.

Faster than he could have thought possible, the femme seized Megatron by the wrist, turning his sword away and snatching her own weapon from her waist. She struck the Decepticon leader in the face, and he felt the familiar sting of whip-chords cutting into his already-mangled faceplates. Stumbling back, Megatron examined the slight flow of energon coming from his wounds, then took a second look at his adversary. And nearly stalled in shock. The femme was striding toward him confidently, but as she walked, the armor was disappearing, the protoform melting away. Until in her place was a human female, wearing a simple, Greek-style white dress and gripping a weapon now made of leather. Her symbiotes had taken off when she first lunged at him, and were now circling Megatron, screeching. Until they too, began to change, into ancient, shriveled human femmes with batlike wings and flaming whips. Their incessant noise changed into true shrieks of laughter as they landed in a circle around him. They approached Megatron, smiling malevolently and flicking their whips.

"Now, now ladies," the femme said, her voice now without a Cybertronian's metallic tinge, "Be patient." She approached Megatron slowly, and smiled pleasantly. "Apologies. The Erinyes can be a little . . . over-eager at times."

"Erinyes?" Megatron asked, having found his voice again.

"My colleagues. It has been a long time now since I have needed their assistance. I am pleasantly surprised to discover they are just as efficient as ever. But I digress. You have been a bad mech, Megatron."

"'Bad?'" the aforementioned Decepticon asked, mirth creeping back into his tone, "Is that all you can say?"

"Why not?" The femme shrugged nonchalantly, "It's a simple and fitting adjective. I hope you weren't expecting a more lengthy description." The warlord she was addressing gritted his denta. How dare she act this way, as if he were like Starscream, a thoroughly pathetic egotist? It was she who was the overconfident fool, standing in front of a powerful gladiator who was ancient by her pathetic species' standards without even her weapon in her hand, insulting him as though expecting no retaliation.

"A pity," Megatron growled through his denta, "You may have something more to say when your entrails are decorating my throne room!" He knew charging the femme again would not work, so he used his fusion cannon, fully expecting the raw plasma energy to detonate and disintegrate his oddly persistent visitor. And once again, she completely defied all expectations. Raising one forearm to shield her face, the femme stood impassively as the plasma exploded harmlessly, doing no damage whatsoever. And before Megatron knew it he was on the floor of the _Nemesis_, with one sandaled foot pressing into his neck. The femme surveyed him coldly as her scourge vanished and was replaced by a large sword.

"Whatever deities existed on your home world have been far too lenient with you," She told the warlord, her voice filled with icy venom. "Leaving those of us on Earth to tidy up their mess. I know who you are Megatronus, and what you have done. And I assure you," Now the femme leaned in close, enough so Megatron could see the individual lashes framing her organic eyes, "You _all _will pay the debts you have accumulated. One way or another."

"Adrasteia!" One of the Erinyes alighted next to the mech and woman, wings twitching in agitation. "The silent one approaches. Our business will have to be left for another time."

"Very well." 'Adrasteia' did not seem to be particularly troubled with this news. She turned back towards Megatron, that Primus-damned half-smile still on her face. "Until we meet again, Megatronus. And I promise," the smile changed, becoming synonymous with that of a predator who knows her prey is cornered. "We will." And with that, she leapt from Megatron's torso, the bat-humans trailing behind her. They ascended into the air and vanished, leaving behind the faintest wisp of smoke. That was just around the time Soundwave entered the room. Megatron quickly regained his pedes with reflexes born in the pits of Kaon, even though in the back of his processor he knew the gesture was futile. There was no way a mech as observant as Soundwave _wouldn't _notice something abnormal had transpired. Fortunately, Soundwave was also unquestionably loyal, and would not inquire unless he was certain his master was in a mind to answer. The spymaster cocked his helm at Megatron, a gesture that few others would have been able to interpret.

"No Soundwave," the gray mech answered his most loyal soldier's silent query. "I do not require assistance." Without so much as another word, Megatron marched past Soundwave and toward the privacy of his personal quarters. _Adrasteia . . ._ On a rare whim Megatron searched the name on the human Internet. Surprisingly enough his search was rewarded almost immediately. It was a name of Greek origin, meaning 'the inescapable one'. After further investigation, he also discovered that it was the name of a goddess, also of Greek origin. The humans had apparently dreamed her up to act as a source of equilibrium, measuring good and bad fortunes in order to maintain balance. But she was also a punisher, bringing harsh consequences upon humans who had committed wrongdoings and forgotten humility. It was from this that she was bestowed with a name more commonly used, that eventually developed into a word in itself.

"Nemesis." Megatron hissed. Something lanced his spark, a feeling of uncertainty, anxiety . . . fear? Regardless, he internally steeled himself. This encounter had proved to him that somehow, the Cybertronian's previous actions had followed them to this world, and by the laws of Nemesis and those whom she served, they had debts to pay. And they would pay, the warlord was sure. Any other circumstance and he would brush the threat aside as being irrelevant. Megatron _would _have brushed it aside, had he not felt the aura of power the femme possessed, different than that of Unicron in its nature, yet similar in its magnitude. _Our race has a debt to pay, _Megatron thought as he gazed into space, _and the inescapable one will make certain we pay it._

-Fin-


	2. Chapter 2

**Next up on the chopping block: dear doctor Knock Out! I had originally planned Starscream, but for some reason Knock Out just flowed more easily (which isn't really saying much since it took me for-fraggin'-ever to get this out). If any of you have read **_**The Mark of Athena**_**, you will notice that I borrowed one or two elements of Rick Riordan's interpretation of Nemesis. This takes place shortly after "Tunnel Vision/Triage". And if any of you are wondering about the Autobots . . . they'll get their visits soon enough.**

** Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers Prime**

The Decepticon medic Knock Out stormed into his med-bay in a near incendiary temper. There was, of course, a reason for this, an exceptional one by Knock Out's standards. The grounder's normally immaculate red paint job was marred by deep, wide scratches and scrapes. _Damn them_, Knock Out thought viciously, _damn those Autobots __and__ their little fleshy pets to the Pit! _And now, after everything he had been through (including getting hit by a slagging train!) he was being forced to repair Soundwave first even though the only damage HE had was a fragging cracked visor! So what if Soundwave had been the only one to return with a relic? It wasn't FAIR!

Grumbling quietly to himself, Knock Out began pulling out the required tools to seal the crack in Soundwave's visor, as well as the ones required to restore his finish to its former glory. Settling into the familiar preparation routine, Knock Out reached blindly behind him and asked;

"Hand me the paint stripper, would you, Breakdown? With damage this bad I'm going to have to redo the whole thing." The desired container was pressed into his servo, and Knock Out placed it on the table with his other materials. In the midst of counting and organizing said materials, Knock Out froze.

Breakdown was dead.

Breakdown could not have handed him that paint stripper. Slowly, very slowly Knock Out turned around.

He had been expecting Soundwave. The spymaster was freakishly good at sneaking up on others (though Knock Out supposed that was part of his unofficial job description). And the scarlet mech adamantly stamped down on the corner of his spark that so wanted it to be his oversized blue partner, standing beside him as if nothing had happened. But instead . . . instead . . .

Knock Out was not entirely sure what he should be more surprised by: the fact that the human woman was on the _Nemesis_ in the first place, or that she was as tall as he was. Calm, vaguely amused gray eyes regarded him as he ran his optics up and down her form. If she wasn't a fleshy organic, Knock Out decided, she would be quite pretty.

"Have I passed your inspection, doctor?" The woman asked, raising an eyebrow. Knock Out allowed a smirk to grace his features. Wordplay. This he could do.

"Well that depends," he leered, "if you would allow yourself an . . . examination." The organic femme laughed and shook her head.

"Oh no doctor, I've heard far too many horror stories from your previous 'patients'. Besides, wouldn't you like to know exactly _who_ is in your medbay?"

"I'm afraid that is information you will have to share with me, my dear."

"Oh come now," she purred, "You're a reasonably intelligent mech, Knock Out. I'm sure you have _some _sort of clue as to who I am."

The truth was Knock Out had no clue. But the femme was probably going to stand there until she got some sort of response so the medic racked his memory banks. Then, as if the memories had been pushed to the forefront of his mind, Knock Out remembered the time he and Breakdown had been sent on the quest for the Energon Harvester. After they had left the human museum, the two car-formers wondered what had made the fleshies deem that stone statue so important. It wasn't made of a rare material, and didn't seem exceptionally beautiful (then again, nothing humans made [barring automobiles, of course], was ever really attractive). So when the mission was over medic and assistant had done some research, and discovered the belief system of the ancient Greeks. And at that moment a possibility occurred to Knock Out, an idea that was so _completely_ impossible, that it just might be true.

"You're an Olympian," he said, all the while feeling a strange desire to laugh. "One of the human gods." She smiled, and nodded.

"But-you can't- that's impossible!" Knock Out spluttered. "Gods don't _exist_! Those stories are just what humans dreamed up before they developed their primitive science!"

"Oh come now, Unicron can be sleeping in Earth's core, but _human_ deities can't live on a mountaintop? That sounds awfully biased."

"I didn't expect Unicron to exist either."

"Even when his blood was brought forth and its properties demonstrated? My my, you _are _a close-minded one."

"Yes well, forgive me for having chosen a profession based in SCIENCE." Knock Out replied crabbily.

"Very well. You're forgiven." The cherry (although very scuffed) medic scowled at her and said;

"I think I've been looking for the answer to the wrong question. Regardless of who you are only one thing truly matters. Why are you here?" She answered as though it must have been obvious.

"Why, to offer my condolences, of course." Knock Out stiffened.

"I . . . don't know what you're talking about." he ground out.

"Of course you do. Several scales were balanced with Breakdown's death, as he sadly could not do so in life. And I would know. For I am Nemesis, goddess of retribution and the distributor of fortune. And _you_," she jabbed her finger at Knock Out's chestplate with a sense of growing ire, "You and your kind have brought war and imbalance, imbalance that I _must_ correct_._" As Nemesis' gray eyes stared into Knock Out's red optics, her expression changed, becoming contemplative. "You mourn the death of your partner. But I must confess that I wonder . . . who do you blame for it?" And that was when any of doubts of her nature were dispelled.

Nemesis changed her shape, skin and clothing turning to obsidian metal, a pale face becoming porcelain, and organic eyes becoming purple, compound optics. In a matter of moments the human woman had vanished and in her place stood the spider-femme Airachnid.

"You harbor resentment for the assassin." she murmured "Understandable. But I sense there is more. Perhaps the mech who survived in Breakdown's place?" As Nemesis spoke Airachnid's form changed color and expanded, morphing into a facsimile of Dreadwing. She continued talking and shifting, naming several Autobots, Megatron, Silas, and even Breakdown himself. But the Aston Martin wasn't listening. Puzzle pieces were falling into place, forming a terrible picture in his mind; Nemesis knew that Airachnid had extinguished Breakdown's spark, knew that Megatron had sent him on that fatal mission, and knew that without Optimus Prime the war wouldn't exist in the first place, and Cybertron would be whole. But Breakdown didn't die on Cybertron. He died on Earth. And if it had happened on Earth . . .

That meant she had something to do with it.

Nemesis was _taunting _him, in her sick way, directing his anger at others when in reality _she _had done it all. Knock Out had no idea how, and at the moment he really didn't care. Red seeping into the corners of his vision, Knock Out seized his energon prod from subspace and stabbed at the goddess, only to have her slip away and out of reach.

"I don't _care_ who held the blade!" The scarlet mech roared, "I don't care what the circumstances are! Because _you _did it, _you _made it happen, _you. Killed. Him!_" At that precise moment Knock Out felt all of the momentum in his arm stop as Nemesis caught his weapon. She stared for a moment, into his blazing red optics, and once again completely threw the Decepticon medic for a loop.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" she asked him. Knock Out didn't respond. He didn't need to. "But I suppose that's the point, isn't it? Breakdown has paid his debt, and in grief and humiliation, you have begun to pay yours. You see, I loathe arrogance as much as wrongdoing; and _you_, Knock Out, are one of the most arrogant beings I have ever met. Much of your punishment is still ahead of you. Whether it ends with your redemption or death, I cannot say." Nemesis smiled wryly, "But know you are not the only victim in my sights. It is my duty to affect all of those involved in your war. _All _of them," she emphasized, watching Knock Out's face carefully, "Human and Cybertronian." The medic's optic ridges raised slightly in understanding.

"So there's no bias towards your own species?" he said, smiling. She smiled back.

"None whatsoever." Knock Out's smile grew.

"Good."

**Some time later**

Knock Out left the medbay, handing off the remains of his . . . test subject to a nearby drone. In a way, he was almost disappointed to see it go. That little fleshy corpse represented one of the most _satisfying _experiments he had conducted in a long time. Though no doubt the crew thought him unhinged because of it, Knock Out found it difficult to stop smiling.

"I trust you found Silas' punishment satisfactory?" Knock Out wasn't surprised in the least to see a human-sized Nemesis perched on the desk in his quarters, waiting for him.

**AndromedaAI: I'm glad you think so! ^_^**

**Copyright-Prime: Wow . . . thank you so much! I'm glad you think it's so good, and thanks for the advice about Megatron! :D**


End file.
